


Turn off Shut down

by azerblazer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AlwaysaDemon!Stiles, Cannibalism, Completely AU, Demon!Stiles, Gen, Halfdemon, Pack Feels, Scott and Stiles are awesome bros, Scott is an awesome friend, Stiles eating people, Tattoos, but be warned anyway, currently on the Alpha pack confrontation, growing closer, half human, kind of since a demon is eating them, who deserve it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azerblazer/pseuds/azerblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles!" Derek barks out, pained and confused. Stiles merely shakes and begins to unzip his hoodie in a hurry, treasured red sweater given to Peter and then his two shirts are shucked off. Scott knows that no one else in this clearing has seen Stiles shirtless.</p>
<p>Every time he does there's a strange mix of awe and fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Treading into the Teen Wolf fandom, with my what is beginning to become my favorite kind of fic. Demon!Stiles.  
> These demons are based off of Supernatural but they branch out in different ways, soon to be explained.  
> Please forgive any mistakes I may have missed darlings!
> 
> Crossposted [here ](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/31885956581/new-fic-teen-wolf-turn-off-shut-down)on Tumblr! Along with the [song ](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/31885328452/flawed-design-stabilo-when-i-was-a-young-boy-i)that inspired the title and some of the story

They've been planning for weeks, and have less that squat to show for it. They've moved the planning sessions outside, where they can scatter in a wide range of directions and hear better through the woods.

Everyone is wound tight, Allison seems to always be gripping her bow, Lydia's hair is becoming fluffy on one side from frustratedly running her fingers through it while rifling through for more offensive spells.

The Alpha pack still hung on the edges of their sense and it made them tense, Boyd and Erica were still being held captive and not a whiff of their location had been found.

As the group got more and more snappish, Stiles chattered on with higher disregard for the glaring eyes and growls. Even Isaac had been giving him flashes of his teeth in decidedly not friendly matter. Scott understood on some level, they've barely come together out of necessity so they haven't had the familiarity Scott does with his best friend. They try to follow along his confusing and often misleading spires of words; Scott listens to the tone and the steady thrum of Stile's heartbeat.

It's how he knows that for the moment, everything is manageable.

It's when the words become sharp and focused and the body stops fidgeting that things become truly panic worthy.

Even Peter begins to frown slightly at Stiles and he's usually extremely tolerant of things that Stiles spews out on a daily basis. Allison accompanies him from Derek's side over to stand as a shield between everyone else and Stiles, because she's awesome and has a soft spot for his best friend.

When they finally snap, it's something stronger the creature in his flesh that gives him the strength to block Jackson's swipe.

It wouldn't have injured him, at best rip his favorite red hoodie at the sleeve, but Scott is a good friend and takes the hit instead, already healing.

Stiles' heartbeat picks up in fear and Scott is already transformed and baring his sharp teeth against everyone else in front of them. He keeps an eye on Peter, who's the only one not in his easy visual range. With a small smug grin he eases back down, conceding amused defeat.

"Whoa guys, calm down, Jeesus Jackson. If you'd ripped my sweater I'd have to kill you, seriously."

Derek glowers from a couple paces behind Jackson, the map in his hands dangerously close to becoming tattered shreds on the dirt floor. " _Shut.Up.Stiles."_

Lydia snaps out, "This is already pretty shaky without having you run your mouth more than usual, so knock it off or I'll feed you your own intestines Stiles."

She'd know the spell to do it too.

Allison took over, trying to soothe tempers, one hand pointedly gripping her bow. Stiles was grinning nervously and Scott turned his back on Jackson – an insult to his werewolf instincts- to nuzzle at the short bristly hair. Stiles' sharp scent mellowing again and returning to its normal state. He saw Peter grinning from the peripheral of his vision because Peter was weird about this thing between Scott and Stiles like he tries to recall something.

He tuned in to Jackson sneering something probably hurtful, but it was familiar and Scott merely shrugged it off, sensing the tension had been diffused.

So of course that's when an unexpected voice pipes up with an amused, "Not much of a pack if such squabbles occur right under the Alpha."

-

The Alpha pack ran with a witch. And in the preceding flurry of fangs and claws the only ones left standing are a scratched up Peter and Stiles, who'd dragged the older man up and quickly made a mountain ash circle in the commotion.

Lydia was nursing a bleeding mouth and a probable strained wrist, glaring balefully at the gloating enemy witch.

All the others, Allison included, bow snapped and an ugly bruise on her cheek, were wrapped up in chains lined with wolfsbane. It's steadily making him sick and Scott can barely hear his own breaths over the wild snarling of the Alphas as Derek snaps at the other pack before being brought down and choked with handcuffs that begin to burn his wrists.

Peter keeps eying the other weres surrounding them, keeping Stiles behind him at all times. Scott can only grunt approvingly at that; even as panic winds its way through him as Stiles stays quiet and his heartbeat begins to slow enough that Peter steals glances at him between long pauses in between.

Jackson manages to wriggle free, a glint of Allison's knife, and throws himself against the Alpha, getting beat back to the ground before he makes it a couple steps. The witch does something and Jackson snarls in pain and freezes unnaturally. Lydia scowls ugly and her glare could strip paint.

The Alpha begins talking, Scott doesn't pay him attention, that's Derek's job, as leader. He has all his senses attuned to Stiles, sure that they'll hash it out somehow. The Alpha's lives are already forfeit anyway.

They kidnapped Erica and Boyd, even now tied up besides him, Isaac glowered and struggled without pause.

Those two had been what Allison and Stiles were to him, so Scott understands.

A sharp laugh brought him back from slowly counting out the long seconds between Stiles' heartbeat. The Alpha kicked out at Derek's face and even Scott felt pinpricks of rage at that.

His own qualms against Derek aside, he is _Beacon Hills_ , and these assholes were complete strangers and Scott felt like plunging his claws and ripping that leg off.

"Scott."Stiles whimpers, Peter is completely besides him now, hand on his elbows with furrowed eyebrows as he counts a whole minute between heartbeats that rattle echoes in Stiles' ribcage.

Realizing his anger is hurting Stiles and no pressure valve is available to release any of it, Scott prays that the death toll won't be too high this time. At least on their side.

Everyone from their pack notices Stiles' usual rapid beat is now almost nonexistent, and they all look at Stiles, trying to get a reason for this. It brings the other pack's attention as well to the ones behind the mountain ash barrier.

"Stiles!" Derek barks out, pained and confused. Stiles merely shakes and begins to unzip his hoodie in a hurry, treasured red sweater given to Peter and then his two shirts are shucked off. Scott knows that no one else in this clearing has seen Stiles shirtless.

Every time he does there's a strange mix of awe and fear.

Runes and markings and circles with pointed strange stars and symbols are embedded in his skin. Literally embedded, he'd touched them often enough to know, deep enough that grooves were left. They interlinked and connected with delicately curled lines, all centered around his heart.

The chains -that's what they were keeping the world out and keeping _Stiles_ in- centered on his heart and spread outwards, ending at his waist, front to back. They seemed to warp the light around them, and glow a disturbing black that made you dizzy if you stared for too long.

"Call it Scott!" He nearly shrieks, and some of the tattoos begin whirring, like clockwork gears, his body begins to convulse and he hunches in on himself. The enemy witch pales and she begins shouting out something that Scott blurs out because-

"That's impossible, there's no sign-"

He has to dig, not as deep as he would like because it's always there, and he reaches in-

"-didn't bring any salt or weapons for this-"

He twists it to the side, and he sighs in relief as everything is finally released. He inhales and near shouts a panicked,

"GENIMGENIMGENIM! I Give Permission!"

-

The whole clearing begins to stink of something sharp and spicy, the werewolves gag before they can adjust to it and begin to block it out. Peter is fully pressed up against the mountain ash barrier, staring with wide blue eyes.

Stiles doesn't change. Not superficially. He's still lanky and pale against the solid black of the strange tattoos on his body.

When he turns to see him, Peter doesn't hesitate in baring his throat and holding the prized sweater in front of him to show that if he died violently like the solid black gaze promised, it would get werewolf blood all over it.

Stiles' face is strange fitting, like there's something under his skin that strains it, and when he breathes in Peter swears there's a glimpse of jagged teeth before his regular human teeth show in a smile.

His heart doesn't beat.

He steps forward and repeats what Scott did to him earlier, nuzzling against a frozen Peter's jawline and inhaling deeply.

Peter tries not to feel like a pup whose stumbled upon a rabid wolf and fails. A puff of breath that reeks of blood and Stiles is gone, stalking around the frozen and incredulous werewolves.

He make a pleased noise that crackles against his throat wetly and grabs the chain that connects all of them together and just pulls and it snaps like a twig. Pulling Scott up he rubs his face all over, like a two legged cat and sniffing him; he does the same to Allison before the others gather their wits enough to rush him.

Two are dead and dismembered in seconds. A third cries out when Stiles grabs his throat with sharp teeth and yanks back, ripping it off and taking a bit of spine with him.

That gives them pause and Stiles spits out spine fragments before swallowing everything else greedily. Smacking his red lips he laughs, a sound with a several strange echoes that raises the hair on their necks.

" **Now,"** He continues, " **Now you will witness true terror."**

**-**

There are laughs intersped with wet sucking noises that everyone now knows are what eviscerated flesh sounds like.

The pack is now free and Allison had been kind enough to disturb the ash so Peter can rejoin them, red sweater tucked safely inside his jacket.

If nothing else, it's surefire insurance.

They're battered and the stink of wolfsbane poisoning is making them nauseous; but they lay there together, jumping at every sound the wood echoes of someone else dying. They hear nothing of Stiles' voice except laughter.

The witch is now stumbling back and completely ignoring them, rifling desperately through her bag, her lower left arm is gone.

A small vial is grasped triumphantly in her hands and she screams when blood soaked fingers trail her neck.

Jumping back and tripping over Lydia's vindictively stretched out leg, she lays on the ground and sobs.

Stiles tilts his head and doesn't change the goofy and familiar grin, blood staining his teeth. He seems about to laugh even as the witch unscrews the bottle and throws the contents in his face chanting a desperate litany of "Christo" and bible verses.

Everyone waits a beat, Peter and Derek's face open with dawning realization and the beginnings of worried panic; because he isn't the Stiles they know, but he is still _Beacon Hills_.

Stiles laughs delightedly, licking off a drop of holy water from his arm and spreading his hands to say, "See?"

The witch blubbers, "What- but- that's impossible! _What are you?"_

Stiles near _dances_ over to the woman, and his gaze is tugged to the side where Lydia is still bleeding sluggishly from her mouth, Jackson clutched protectively to her, still frozen with eyes only able to peer about freely.

He cuts back with a quickly forming frown, as it to remember that this wasn't a fun run only, but they'd actually done something to deserve death.

One foot gently resting on her mouth, Stiles steps on her hand with the other, uncaring of the scream or the useless flailing she makes after it crunches wetly, bones probably pulverized.

**"What is a God to a non-believer?"** He asks gently, before pushing his foot down all the way and destroying all of her lower face and throat.

Scott laughs hoarsely, and doesn't startle when Stiles all but collapses over him like a cat with blood smearing and cooling. He politely pretends to not notice the whole pack isn't staring at them incredulously, and cards his hair through the short fuzz.

"I can't believe you used a song lyric as a one liner dude."

Frowning at the lines of poisoning on Scott's arms, Stiles sets his hands on them and inhales, concentrating. When he exhales a bit of purple smoke the poisoning is gone. Scott hugs him in thanks and merely lays there, trying to get over the surprised joy that none of their friends are dead and Stiles seems more comfortable than he has in months.

Looking over at the rest of the pack, Stiles smiles and merely rolls over, getting his scent on everyone and smacking Derek in the face with a flailing hand. Once he's touching everyone in some way he takes a deep breath and writhes briefly, a strange expression on his face like he wants to sneeze. The poisoning goes away and he's just sprawled heavily over everyone, not even Derek's increasingly strong pushes can budge him.

"Stiles" Allison chokes out and Stiles frowns worriedly before easing up his body.

The Alpha's scratches aren't healing and though the wolfsbane may be gone they're all still exhausted.

Except Stiles because he stands up like a shot and begins to herd them towards his jeep at the edge of the road. They grumble but when he hauls up Jackson without a hitch in breath and threatens to just pile them all on his shoulders and run there they all begin to pick up the pace.

They kind of just drop in the Jeep and eventually arrive at Stiles' house, the Sheriff herds them inside and they all kind of pile up in the living room, blankets and pillows piled up around them. They loose Stiles in between eating dinner and going to bed, but Scott's the only one to notice and Stiles has already killed many tonight, so Scott isn't worried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of dialogue heavy, but I tried to temper it a bit and keep it from becoming complete blocks of text. Not sure if succeed.
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS: Slight mention of pedophilia and sexual abuse towards a little girl, followed by immediate mention of satisfying violence. And as always, the mention and discussion of Stiles' human eating habits.

Jackson had eventually been released from the spell overnight, and stretched greedily. He froze again though, when a glint caught his attention.

Stiles was there, casually lounging on his sofa, overlooking all the people sprawled out on his living room floor. His eyes gleamed in the pitch black, reflecting some nonexistent white light.

Spooked more than he would admit, Jackson forwent any more movement and laid down quietly, holding the gaze that followed him.

Hours, possibly minutes passed by, a cold sweat developing between his cramped shoulder blades. Stiles' head tilted then, like a bird made up of sharp angles and wrong shadows. Jackson blinked once, slowly, and he was gone.

Despite his remaining trepidation, he fell asleep quickly.

In the morning, Mr. Stilinski's police cruiser drove out of the driveway, waking the pile of sleeping people in the living room. Much to their surprise, a subdued Erica and Boyd had joined them sometime in the night. They all swarmed them, sniffing out the scents in order to find out what happened; they recounted their rescue, with unsure and hesitant pauses and glances towards Stiles who had returned to his previous position. Gazing over them in a slightly dispassionate way he lounged above all, like a benevolent and alien god with oil slick eyes and knife sharp teeth.

As Erica was mentioning how Stiles had casually taken chunks out of their captors with rows of inhuman teeth, voice thin and reedy from exhaustion and embarrassment and fear; Stiles stood up, making everyone flinch, his movement so sudden and harsh in comparison to the deathly stillness from before.

He casually weaved through them, breezing past without touching anyone and without having made the slightest noise.

There was a silence afterwards that nobody wanted to break.

-

The Sheriff had eaten earlier, pointedly avoiding the living room and simply reciting the old tune of "If I don't know about it, I can't arrest you."

They scrounged up whatever they could for breakfast; eggs, toast and some fruit made up the bulk of it.

The silence pervaded everything, and glances kept being thrown towards Stiles. He sat in between Scott and Allison, pale skin like cold marble in the morning light and without a plate or drink.

Finally, it seemed Scott realized Stiles wasn't going to say anything about the giant awkward elephant in the room. He coughed and sheepishly started out.

"So, I guess you might have some questions?"

Lydia's face did a sort of spastic twitch that had Scott hurrying onto his explanation.

"Well, we've never told anyone, except, of course the Sheriff knows." He paused,"Stiles' mom knows too. I'm pretty sure Deaton has some idea because he always seems to know everything around here. But-"

"McCall. Get to the point." Jackson grits out, avoiding Stiles' black gaze as it comes to rest on him. It feels like a physical sensation of cold scales brushing against his skin and he hates it.

He knows better than to do anything about it though.

Scott glances at him and pauses with his mouth open, words stuck in his throat before blurting out, "Stiles is a demon."

He ducks his head and glances around at the befuddled looks slowly turning into sharpening realization. Derek made a small movement backwards, an instinctive twitch of muscle, as he remembered the dying witch from yesterday.

It brought Stiles' attention and he swallowed, "Like...possession?"

Scott shook his head, realizing how bad this might turn out, "No, it's his body, and he was born with it." A helpless look towards Stiles bore no results other than a quick hum from his closed mouth. "Mrs. Stilinski, was- is a demon. But Mr. Stilinski is human , so he's not really both or either. But uh-"

He was getting himself tangled up, years of keeping and burying this secret were hard to break. And everyone was staring at him.

 **"I'm half-breed."** Stiles finally offered, **"Hated by demons, feared by humans. Best of both worlds really."** He said smugly, lounging back in his chair with the sort of practice insolence that set any adults nearby on edge.

Peter, who seemed to be the fastest on the uptake, leaned forward interestedly, "I didn't know demons could breed on this plane, especially with a human."

"It's pretty difficult for the baby to make it," Scott answered, as if quoting someone, "But it takes a strong demon to keep the fetus alive past five months, and the stronger the demon, the more chance that child won't make it past his childhood years."

Stiles deigned to answer from there, nothing inside him twitched, not his heart or any muscles to show he was alive other than the empty rattling his vocal cords did as they echoed around his ribcage.

 **"Humans and demons are basically compatible, although some edges _rub up harshly_ when they reproduce,"** he accentuated those three words with a sort of slow deep growl and snapping high ticks that had him cough once afterwards, blood leaving tiny freckles along his lip.

They stared. Scott passed him a napkin, a slight frown creasing his eyebrows. Stiles continued in a raspier tone.

 **"The mortality rate of a half demon child is very high, which is why most of us die early on. I was one of the few lucky ones, although I had to have all of my demonic essence sealed away,"** Here he gestured to his tattooed chest, **"Essentially becoming fully human. And take medication to deal with the chemical imbalance left over, now that regular medication could affect me."**

"You locked away half your being." Lydia interrupted, stubbornly staring back at the black eyes that rested on her, "So who held the key?"

A thin smile crawled across his face and he tilted his head as if she had done a particularly delightful trick. **"My mother held my key, my** **name and voiced consent. After she left, it was passed on to Scott when we were ten or so."**

Derek rubbed his eyes, tiredly, wanting to go back to sleep than to deal with the whole clusterfuck this was shaping up to be. He gruffly ushered the wonderful and touching story along.

"How do you return to being human then?"

 **"Who says I want to?"** Stiles shot back, face blank once more.  **"Being human is stifling, it's** _ **weakness**_ **. If I could, I'd stay a demon forever. "**

Isaac spoke up then, squished between the silent Erica and Boyd. "It's not up to you then? If you stay demon or human?"

Stiles eyed him without turning his head, nostrils flaring before continuing. **"This body can't handle the strain yet, pretty soon it'll begin to deteriorate from the inside. Every month or so Scott'll let me loose on some poor bastard who had it coming and I get to play."**

Allison set down her fork slowly at that. Everyone kind of stops at that.

Scott quickly jumps in, "He needs to eat some way right? And if there's no one that month, he usually eats the wildlife."

"And how do you choose who gets to die?" Allison challenges, quietly accusing and ready to start a fight about it, no matter that Stiles is her friend.

Especially because Stiles is her friend.

Scott knows how bad this looks to others; but he remembers seeing his best friends pained eyes. Whining and almost gnawing his own hand off for food. How he ate and ate everything but grew weaker until a hapless burglar stumbled into the McCall's home and they found something to stop the hunger.

Even earlier than that, he fuzzily remembers the zip-lock baggies of "Special Meats" that belonged to Mrs. Stilinski and Stiles; she had said it was for them because they were so sick. And they had looked better afterwards, energetic and less pale. He still remembered wanting to try some because it looked so delicious.

"We check out the police records." He says, "Those who got away, or Stiles sniffs them out," An innate talent? Some kind of instinct that has Stiles attracted to the desperate, the broken, the ones that have been brought to the depths of shame and anger and grief. "And he asks them who did it; and if they're alive..."

Well, they weren't for long afterwards.

This Stiles, he doesn't understand; he only knows he can't eat others because Scott told him not to, it wasn't because of any kind of personal restraint. He had read dozens and dozens of comics to him when they were children; left alone on school nights where both parents worked, Stiles coming over to ease the itching under his skin. When he was set free, he pored over superheroes and responsibility and power with confused black eyes. Years later and nothing changed, demons rarely did; but Stiles could only see humans as things, some, like Scott and his mother and his own father, were his and to be protected as they protected him in his weak human shell. The rest were food he was told he couldn't eat.

  
Until someone crossed the line that is.

" **I rarely hunt here in Beacon Hills, so I usually take it in a nearby town, farther if we have time."** He turned to Allison, the same careful attention he paid to Scott, **"You should join us. I think hunters would appreciate the prey; we had a good one last month."**

Allison remained silent, eyes searching out something in the strange face before her. "Who was it?" She eventually asked.

"A little girl, "Scott answered, eying his friend,"Stiles found her, and he got her to tell him who it was." It was unnerving, even for him, to see how good Stiles was with kids, they were drawn to him, and asked innocent questions about his eyes and his teeth and his smile. He seemed to genuinely find them likable. In the same way people preferred pigs as bacon, and cooed over the tiny, cute piglets.

Stiles crooned in remembrance, **"Her mother's boyfriend. He wasn't satisfied with a woman; he wanted the little nine-year old one too."** He laughed throatily, **"He didn't stop squealing until I ripped out his lungs."**

No one returned to eating.

"So you just go around like vigilantes and seeking vengeance and justice?" Boyd threw out. Stiles laughed, a high clicking sound rising up in his throat again along with a near silent hiss.

**"Justice? It was Scott's idea, so I did it. I don't care about petty human squabbles."**

Lydia felt something slip into place; Scott really was the key. If Stiles was completely defenseless as a human, Scott was his only shield. And now that Scott was a werewolf...

Stiles snapped his teeth at her playfully, she jolted at the rows and rows of sharp gleaming points that sprung up. Retractable maybe?

**"You've figured something out, little witchling?"**

Lydia sniffed, clutching her hands tightly underneath the table. "What would happen if Scott died before passing on the "key"?"

Especially in their life; that was a real possibility. Too real.

Stiles tapped a thin finger against the table, slowly and measured. 

 **"I'd eat you all. Maybe not Ms. McCall and Allison. Or her father if she wished."** He nodded at her, **"But everyone else becomes fair game. He is my first defense."** He leaned forward, skin rippling in a odd and alien manner. **"He is also** _ **your**_ **last one against me. Remember than, little wolflings."**

It was a cold promise, spoken smoothly and with all the assurance of someone who could rip them apart because they felt like it.

The room seemed to chill, and the sunlight pouring in through the windows seemed to be too sharp and bright. Shadows danced along Stiles' skin, at odds with the angle of light.

 _"_ **Peter."** He snapped out suddenly, breaking the tense silence and swinging his head to the man in question like a large bird of prey. **"You are very lucky Scott survived the bite. Thanks for that. Never do it again."**

He didn't wait for the man's response. Orders didn't need agreement; they were only to be followed. 

He stood up, clapping his hands together, delighted at the way everyone stared warily at him.

**"Now onto the matter at hand. In a couple months or so, I'll either die or go onto the final part of my merging."**

Derek dreaded asking, "Merging?"

**"It's the optimal time for both my demon half and human half to completely bind themselves together. Hopefully, we've got my body trained enough that the release of the essence won't kill me right off the bat. But you never know."**

Scott slumped, rubbing his forehead, "It'll attract tons of other creatures and predators, waiting to either kill him or make an alliance with a hafling."

A halfling wasn't something to scoff at, if they survived past merging. Demonic talents and immunity to holy artifacts aside; they often manifested strange talents of their own. Somebody to definitely have on your side.

Deaton's little mountain ash trick seemed to be Stiles' superpower, so that wasn't something to worry over. Everything else though...

Derek seemed to have just given up, staring flatly at the ceiling. He'd only been preparing for the Alpha pack; and that had turned out to be a total disaster; broken pack full of oddballs that clashed, his insane backstabbing uncle, _Stiles._  

Fuck his life.

 **"We've got a lot of preparing to do kiddies."** Stiles sounded downright chipper, looking minutes away from jumping up and down.

 **"First things first though,"** He looked around, **"We're gonna need a special clubhouse; because I will kill anyone who gets blood on my father's couch."**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with added fanart [on my Tumblr.](http://azerficupdates.tumblr.com/post/36572335783/demon-stiles-art-from-fic-turn-off-shut-down)


End file.
